


Pastel Skies

by Sam_Kabaam



Category: The 100
Genre: (I'll post what chapter it's in when written), Addiction, Angst, Betrayal, CAUTION : SELF HARM, DO NOT read if it is triggering or hurtful to you, Did I say angst?, F/M, I'll add more tags as i go, Kabby af, Medication, Nightmares, PTSD, Pain, Rehab, Therapy, Torture, angsty kabby af, forced/non-consent (nothing extreme just kissing), kabby got problems, overdosage, panicking/anxiety/extreme fear/ etc.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-06-08 16:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6864832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Kabaam/pseuds/Sam_Kabaam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the tragedy following Al and the attack on Polis, Marcus has a hard time coping with what has happened, and what he has done to the people he loves. <br/>Now, that pain is an addiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter one is a bit of an introduction chapter (but don't think for one second it isn't full of angst because it's nothing but angst)  
> Anyway, this is a very angsty fic about moving on and Marcus wrist therapy because of his crucifixion, as well as Abby's 'guilt'

Pastel Skies

The war had taken its toll on Marcus. From being almost executed by his own people, to crucified by them, he rarely let his guard down. Most nights he was haunted by his own screams, sometimes Abby's. Every once in awhile he would find himself holding a gun to Lincoln's head and pulling the trigger. A pool of blood mixing in with the water below him.  
It reminded him of the storm clouds that rolled across the sky near sunset. The pink and red chalk being blown by the wind.  
However, most of the time it was a different dream. One that never left him as it played over and over again in his mind, day in and day out.  
He found himself trapped, high up on his wooden cross, the nails sinking into his flesh. Sometimes he awoke shuddering, weeping to himself, still able to feel Abby's fingers lightly skimming up his arm, wrapping her hand around his own as she toyed with the wounds on his wrist. He never noticed the blood beginning to soak into the fabrics of her shirt.  
In the end, what hurt most was when she buried her lips into the crook of his neck, kissing him down the collar bone and then back up to his mouth. He would whisper for her to stop, his voice hoarse and throat sore. She never listened.  
Finally, it ended with a loud bang. Crimson droplets splattering across his face as she sunk to the floor, her blood flooding the streets. In his mind he was screaming.  
In reality, it was only a distant sob. 

Abby could always tell the moment she strode into medical wether Marcus had had a good nights sleep or not. He never did.  
His eyes were always red, his face pale and mouth dry. Sometimes she was still able to see the trails his tears left behind on his cheeks.  
It took her everything to hold back. To not wipe his face clean and hold him close to her, letting her fingers reach up to become tangled in his hair. But she couldn't. She wouldn't.  
It was no secret that his pain was about her. She never asked what he saw. What he endured every night, and every waking moment of the day. She didn't need to, because she already knew. She saw it too. 

It wasn't rare for her to see him in her dreams as well. Fire rising through her chest as she ran through the timbers as fast as her legs could carry her.  
But it never lasted long.  
A few more strides and she would freeze dead in her track, finding Marcus standing there, alone, his arms facing her as the holes in his flesh seeped with blood. Sometimes she imagined red trees growing from the crimson soaked Earth, their thin limbs reaching to grab his wounds.  
Nothing was ever spoken. Only the eerie music of nature played in the back of her ringing ears. She'd become stuck, frozen, forever forced to stare back at his suffering body.  
But just as she was about to wake up, her dream slowly beginning to fade away, his mouth would open. She could never shake the image of his blood spilling from his lips as it fell to the ground. Even once she was panting for breath in her bedroom, she could still hear his words haunting every one of her thoughts.  
'Wake up.'  
Marcus knew she was having nightmares too. 

He'd been stuck in medical for days now. Ever since he was relocated from Polis, back to Arkadia, he never left. He couldn't.  
The way his wrists were infected, several of his bones cracked and shattered under the rusty metal. Moving his fingers were completely out of the picture. Every small nudge sent him through a whirlwind of pain, his teeth gritting against each other as he tried to hold back his cries. Even if surgery was already over and done with, the soreness was still fresh and infection still prone.  
He was fine up until the effects of Alie's pill suddenly wore off, his whole body going into some sort of shock as he fell to his knees. No one was yet to tell him that Clarke had come to take back Polis. Or with Murphy teaming with Raven, they were able to find a solution to end Alie's tyranny. It was all foreign to him. What he knew was that one way or another, it was all over, and he didn't care how. 

 

What he hated most were the needles. The moment he saw Abby near him with two syringes of morphine, the same fear arose in his chest as it did the moment the nails were beaten into him.  
"Abby-Abby wait, please no, Abby," he begged to her, his arms and legs restrained to the bed as he tried his hardest to pull away from her. Every muscle in his body was sore. The more he pulled, the more pain arose in him, spiraling up his entire frame. 

He tried taking deep breaths as Abby pushed his hair from his face, letting him control his fear. She hurt just as much as him. To her, his fear of needles were of no secret. He was a doctors worse nightmare. He put off every annual injection he'd ever been told to have until he couldn't get away with it any longer.  
"It's just a little pinch, I promise you won't feel a thing," she tried not to cry at his panicked whimpers. He was basically out of it, not having slept for days on end. His face was pale and his whole body shook as if it were 30 below. She wished her blocking emotions would go away once more, only for a little while. She couldn't screw this up. Not again. 

No matter how much she stroked his hair, or placed soft kisses on the top of his head, or pleaded with him, he never once left his anxious state of mind.  
Eventually, Abby learned there was nothing left to be done. He was afraid, of course. Having been crucified and forced of his free will had those effects. It did on everyone.  
But now, she had to look past it if only for a moment. In her mind, she still blamed herself for his torment, and she was the only one who could make it right. 

She slowly drew away from him, her fingers trailing down his cheeks until there was nothing left to touch. His deep breaths, chest moving just as it did as he awaited to be bound to the cross, began to burn. She could barely look at him and he could barely look at her.  
She couldn't bare it any longer.  
Taking a syringe from the tray, she slowly inserted the needle into his skin. It became lost in the torn flesh and blood filled pools that gathered deep in his wound.  
He arched his back, his moans going silent. He couldn't look or even glance at her saddened expression, his legs shaking and shifting to help control his discomfort. His mouth burned as he continued to grit his teeth harder and harder, his head pushing back into the pillow. The injections were all the same, and he knew he couldn't bare it much longer.  
She pulled the final needle from his right wrist, a sigh leaving both of their mouths. Sweat dripping from his brow and crimson streaks trailing down his arms and legs. He cried for Abby, low coos filling the room as he whispered and stuttered her name over and over again. 

She tried to ignore his voice. To drown away his sorrows with her own focus. Jackson handed her a scalpel and she placed it gently across the middle of his forearm, a top the small slit that he had earned himself. He never talked about it, nor did he ever look down to trace his eyes across the discolored scar. All he hinted was that it was done himself. His own work of art that he had imprinted permanently onto his own skin.  
It sickened her to think that Marcus once saw himself so worthless, he believed Thelonious deserved more than him.  
She didn't know where he was now and she didn't care. He was gone and out of their lives and that was all that mattered. 

She finally pressed the metal firmly into his arm and cut gently down his wrist, careful not to open his ulnar artery. She was so used to seeing his blood drip down his arm that it didn't phase her when she watched it begin to puddle onto the floor. When she was finally finished, his arm opened all the way to the bottom of the palm of his hand, she quickly picked the towel from the stand beside her and placed it over the open wound.  
Marcus squirmed under her touch, refusing to watch as she worked. He knew he needed the surgery, and he was never disgusted by such gruesome visions, but this was something he couldn't bare to view. There was something about it. Something about the way it brought him back to only a week before. He was afraid he would feel her soft touch run across his wounds and hear her comforting murmurs and he'd be back on the cross. He'd be back to square one. Without feeling or free will. Walking past her as if she were no one. A speck of dust in the wind. 

Every stitch into his torn tendons made him jump. He lay feeling alone, his eyes closed and a permanent wave of nausea always washing over him. He was uncomfortable, but not scared. Never scared. He couldn't be. The moment he let the fear overcome him was to be the moment he broke for the second time. He couldn't place that burden on Abby's shoulders. He couldn't let himself. He was already adding to the weight. She already believed it was all her fault and no matter how hard he'd try to talk her out of it, she would just shake her head and look to the floor. It was always the same. 

"You'll need some sort of casts on your wrists ok, Marcus?" she began to stitch close his first wrist, and quickly moved to the second. He opened his eyes to her tying off the black string that weaved in and out of his tanned skin. He wanted to run his own fingers over the long stretch. Just so he could feel some sort of sensation. 

Everyday he carefully unwrapped the bloodied bandages, inspecting the huge, black and blue bruises that covered his entire forearms. The slightest touch caused him to wince, but it didn't stop him from constantly prodding the wounds. He loved the pain. The sudden spike of discomfort traveling through his entire body.  
Abby swatted his hand every time she caught him.  
"stop that, they won't heal as quickly and you'll be more prone to infection," she'd constantly argue, wrapping the cotton cloth back over his wrists. She tried to ignore the way he flinched whenever their skin came into contact. 

"I'm sorry, Abigail Griffin," she heard him say one morning as she tried combing his hair with her fingers.  
Every time her hands slipped through his thick, dark locks, he jumped.  
It was barely noticeable after awhile, but that didn't mean she couldn't still feel it under her soft touch. 

"What for?" She whispered, the quietness of the room and low rumbles of thunder from outside the metal ark bringing her the peace and comfort she hadn't felt in what seemed like years. 

"I'm sorry for everything," his quiet, hoarse voice blended well with the sudden sound of raindrops hitting the roof, "Sometimes I wish our first kiss when I left was our last. That you hated me and had no regret for doing so. Maybe then you wouldn't feel such horrid pain. You blame yourself and all it does is slowly kill us both and I wish I could take that burden from you, I really do. But no matter how many times I tell myself It isn't your fault, I still can't help but pull away whenever we touch. Abby, why can't you just stop?"  
His cheeks may have been dampened with his tears, but his voice was left untouched. Strong yet weak. 

"If it wasn't my fault, then how come I can still hear your screams and see your blood even when I'm asleep? I'm afraid, Marcus. How come I still remember?"

She'd never forget the sadness in his expression. The anguish, the torture. Never would she forget the Hell fire that danced in his eyes. The silent screams. 

"I wish I could forget too, Abby"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> marcus is comforted from his nightmares by the person that haunts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, this is the very beginning of our story, and it's gonna definitely pick up after this chapter  
> (Sorry it took awhile, I've experienced technical difficulties with this thing called Life)

Pastel Skies chapter 2

There she was again, her soft lips nudging deeper and deeper into the crook of his neck. Her steamy breath sending shivers down his spine. Warming his bare skin that had become frozen in the rain. He tried telling himself it felt good, that he enjoyed the warm sensation. That would be lying.   
It was the way she sucked on his body, so loving and tenderly, traveling along his jawline, to his lips, and back down again to where she had started at his shoulder.   
Her wandering hands left burns on his torso as they crept their way across his hips and around his back, her nails digging into his sensitive flesh.   
What hurt most is that it wasn't her. It wasn't Abby. His Abby. The one who he'd found, almost dead on the ark. The one he spent his first few moments on Earth with. The one who refused to leave his side even if it was to be the final nail in both their coffins. The one who held him as he sobbed in her arms, too ashamed to even look at her face as he could suddenly remember everything. It wasn't her. Only her broken body and tainted soul. 

He'd suffered this same scene every night. Over and over again. The constant fear echoing through his entire frame. It was like a whisper traveling through a cave. The noise growing louder and louder as it bounced off every wall and surface. The nearly silent murmur transforming into a scream, pushing against his fragile body until he collapsed. Until there was nothing left but shattered bones and broken memories.   
He could feel himself tremble when she pulled away and moved the loose curl that hung down his forehead gently to the side. She stared at him with universal eyes. As if every human emotion that could ever be made and held were trapped in their glassed coffins, staring at the world with their finger tips smudging the window. He didn't know whether to install fear or pain within himself. He once claimed her eyes were as bright as the stars at night, and as clear as the purest water. But the ones he saw now were only tainted with tears and dust. 

Her lips brushed against his scruffed cheek, gently sucking deeper and deeper into his skin. He tasted of sweat and blood, his body coated in dirt and grime.   
He tried turning his head away as she inched closer to his mouth that leaked with dark, crimson water, the droplets falling to the ground and mixing with the puddles of rain below him.   
Every moan and plead he gave her to stop was ignored. His helpless voice meaning nothing to the soulless body that devoured him.   
She finally reached him, biting down hard into his lower lip. He swore he could feel the blood streak down his chin as she kissed him.   
He was so confused. It felt so good yet so vile and disgusting at the same time. It was her mouth, her teeth, her tongue. But it wasn't her. Abby. His Abby.   
It wasn't her voice that whispered to him to keep still, to stop moving. Or her hands that smeared his blood down his forearms as she held them with an iron fist. Or her hair that sent shivers up his spine as they blew across his chest. It wasn't her. Yet it was.   
It was her everything that kept him still, writhing and shaking out of fear and the cold, begging, pleading, his chest riding and falling rapidly at his fast, deep breaths that made his throat catch on fire, the red smoke toppling over his lips. She was his nothing and his everything, all at once. 

Then, with the simple fire of a gun, it was over. Her teeth pulled his lip down hard as she slowly sank lower and lower to the cold floor. He could feel the blood that sprayed from her throat shoot into his. It coated his teeth and gave his tongue the all so familiar taste of iron that he knew would haunt him until the end of his days. He didn't know if he dreamt the scream that left his throat, or if it was real, but the next thing he knew, he was gasping for air as Abby hovered over him, her hand cupped around the back of his neck as the other lay flat across his chest.  
Just by looking into her eyes, even if only for a moment, pushed him into a panicked and frantic state.   
He shoved her away, his arms pushing her stomach as she stumbled backwards. Luckily, there was nothing on the floor for her to trip on as she held onto his bed for balance.   
The sudden feeling of fear that coursed through her was quickly replaced with worry as a cry arose from Marcus's chilled body.   
He sat up, his hands and forearms shaking as he tried to control the pain. He'd become so preoccupied in his nervousness and nightmare, that he had forgotten about the soreness of his wrists. That was until he pounded them against her, making him hold his breath is discomfort and agony. 

"Marcus," her voice was sweet and worrisome as she climbed back to him. Placing a firm grip on his shoulders, she hoped it would stop his tremble. Instead, he paid no attentions to her presence. Staring at his wrists that lay in his lap, taking deep, frantic breaths as his eyes opened wide in fear.   
"Marcus," she cursed his name, a quiet command as she moved her fingers under his chin so that he looked up to her, clearing himself of the dark thoughts that haunted his thoughts.   
Abby could've sworn she could hear her heart breaking in her chest. Almost just as clear as the everlasting snapping of his bones as the long, rusted nails ripped deeper and deeper into his wrists, the spine tingling sound still slithering in and out of her ears.   
His eyes were so cold and distant. Nothing but darkness. A cold, winter wasteland. Barren and empty. The wind howling like wolves. The snow sweeping across the white desert, and the moon shrouded away behind the blackened clouds.   
He didn't look at her like he once did. With hope, and a spark hidden behind his hard and authorities stare. Once his shift was over, once he was out of sight and out of mind from his soldiers and guards, his eyes lit up with wonder and for once, happiness. She always felt a slight stir in her stomach, echoing down to her core, whenever their glances met, even if only for a moment. 

But this wasn't him. These weren't his eyes. Only the empty shells.   
"It's ok," her warm hands moved from his shoulders to his scruffed cheeks, her thumbs running across his sweat-filled skin, "Marcus, listen to me, it's ok," she never raised her voice above a whisper, afraid if she were to be to loud, he would fall away from her once again. Slip through her hands like sand, sinking lower and lower, down into the depths. 

His eyes searched frantically around the room, taking in his surroundings like something was out there to get them both. But it didn't take long for him to realize he wasn't deep in the forest, or left upon his crossed coffin, but in medical, his home, safe from all harm.   
Danger could lurk anywhere.   
Hesitantly, his hands came up to her cheeks as well, his thumbs slowly easing into the feel of her soft skin. When finally his eyes rested onto hers again.   
He felt the pain suddenly shift from his insides. The gut wrenching nervousness that tore through him. The sting in his wrists that made him sweat and cry. It all disappeared along with the throbbing that echoed through his head. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Abby's voice caressed him gently as she pulled herself into him, hanging on even tighter.   
There was another moment of silence between them. One filled with nothing but the dusty air and soft patter of raindrops along the windows. 

He shook his head no, but he held, deep down, second thoughts.   
He waited a few moments, the silence growing to a war zone.   
Finally he began to mutter softly to her.   
The more he talked, the less he cared. The less he feared what she would think of him. Of what horrifying thoughts ran through his mind as he slept. Of how she may react. She had nightmares too, and if she was to turn her back in fear, or hold him in understanding, he didn't know. But he did know, that whatever she thought, whatever her reaction was, he couldn't change it. What was to be, will be. 

"You... I was on the cross, and you were there... Kissing my neck. When I told you to stop, you didn't... The next thing I knew you were on the ground and I was covered in more blood than just my own," he didn't take her eyes off her. Didn't dare to. For all he knew, this could be the last he ever saw of them, staring at him with such care and concern. So he took all he could from them. 

But then she poisoned him. 

She pulled herself closer. Letting their foreheads gently rest against each other. She could feel him breathing.   
Feel his hair in her fingers.   
Feel the sweat drip down his skin.   
The pain in his wrists.   
The endless torment that plagued his mind.   
She could feel him. All of him. Right down to his core. To his heart, beating as fast as war drums in his chest. Pumping the tainted blood to every part of his being.   
The pain traveling along with it.

"I have some medication for you," their eyes remained closed, his bare chest shivering and sweating against her as his aching fingers remained resting gently against her legs. He didn't want to let go. He didn't want to lose her.   
"Vicodin is strong. It should help with the pain"  
She prepared herself to pull away, to let go and help him to his feet. But she couldn't. No matter how hard she tried. She wouldn't be able to stand the feeling of his weak hands not on her thighs. To listen to his weak moans of pain as he desperately tried lifting a glass of water up to his lips himself. He couldn't even wrap his fingers around the cup.   
To watch him, knowing that as he opened his eyes, she wound find them empty as he stared down to his hands in his lap. To the bloodied bandages that wrapped around his wrists.   
So she stayed.   
She waited for him to pull away instead. But he never did.  
He leaned into her. Captured her scent and the feeling of her hands that brought him comfort where no one else could. He felt her. All of her. The soreness of her neck.   
The chill that ran through her body.   
The tremble in her hands.   
The bitter taste in her mouth.   
The millions of thoughts that ran through her mind.   
It was something he'd never felt before, and he didn't want it to end.   
So they stayed. Tapping into one another's every feeling and desire. Poisoning each other. 

All good things must come to an end. 

Abby allowed her fingers to roll through his thick, wetted hair one last time before she cupped his cheeks and kissed him softly.   
Marcus pulled away, nudging his head down towards the floor and to the side, away from her soft, pink lips. He couldn't help but feel a chill down his spine. To pull away and shudder at her warm breath against his mouth. He just couldn't do it. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes refusing to leave the ground. 

She studied his side portfolio. Every scar and hair and crease in the skin. The way his throat moves as he swallowed hard against her eyes.   
She realized only then that she was staring.   
"No, Marcus," her hand found its way to his knee, "it's too soon. It won't happen again unless you want it to."

He only smirked and glanced at her for a moment, looking away to examine the wall.   
She sighed, knowing there wasn't much else to do but wait. But for how long? Will these night terrors ever wander away?  
She didn't feel like thinking about it.   
Instead, she finally stood. Her knees felt weak as she gently lifted Marcus's wrists and placed them on his own thighs. A tingling sensation beginning to spike through every one of her nerves. They must have fallen asleep. 

Now he looked up to her. His eyes wide and helpless. She'd seen him after the culling. After the ark was destroyed and he was forced to listen to the story of his own death. After he watched her scream in Mount Weather. After he came to her, falling apart with stress and anxiety. After his suffering he endured by her own hand upon his X'ed cross. After everything he's been through, she'd never seen him so helpless. So hopeless.   
Yet, she couldn't even hold him.   
She quickly looked down to escape the pain, reaching into her pocket. 

"Here's your medication. Like I said, I'm limiting two per day, these can be dangerous," she fiddled with the cap, and finally was able to bounce out two pills as she cursed under her breath.   
Their skin touched as she placed the medicine in the palm of his hand, and watched out of the corner of her eye as he brought them up to his mouth, and held them with his tongue, awaiting water.   
Abby quickly took his glass from the side table and brought it to his lips, tilting his head back as he drank every last drop. 

"There's one more thing," Abby said aloud, walking across the room to set the dirty glass down with the others and place the remaining pills in a locked drawer, "tomorrow we start therapy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter coming soon to Ao3's near you


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus faces a difficult decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so that didn't go as planned... Summer was great tho... But school is starting tomorrow, which means in my down time in hell, I'll have plenty of chances to write, and be back in the swing of things (one time I posted 5 chapters of a fic in 5 days ok anything is possible and it was one of my most successful stories) so yea I screwed u guys over, sorry, it won't happened again. I solemnly swear I am up to good this time....

Pastel Skies Chapter 3

"Can you touch your thumb to your fifth digit?" Such a simple request. Such an impossible task.  
The silence. The stillness. Nothing but small winces and pain filled groans escaping Marcus's lungs, filling the room with noise until it fell back to nothingness once more. To buzzing flies pounding themselves against the newly cleaned glass, blending in with the raindrops that slowly slid down the smooth surface.  
"Don't try pushing yourself just yet, we don't want to cause any more damage," Abby reached across the gap between their beds, lightly curling his fingers closed, bringing relief to his tendons.  
It pained her to take her eyes off of him. Afraid that if she looked away, he'd be gone. Drowned in the puddles of blood at her feet. 

For hours he sat, even before Abby came to council him through the pain, to move his fingers. But after all the suffering, all the tears, all the sweat and shaking, he hadn't even managed to blossom his hand. It made him sick. 

"Is this normal?" His voice was calm and questioning as he tried sounding not as concerned as he really was.  
Being nailed to a cross and crucified obviously had long and short term effects towards his body, but having a week of rest and recovery, only to be greeted by the outcome of nothing? There had to be more. Something he wasn't told. Something nobody knew.  
What if he was never to recover? Condemned to be pitied in everyone's mind for the rest of his life. To be seen incapable of anything. To be poked and prodded, filled with false hope that soon, someday, would be set free from its cage that had become rusted shut. 

Abby looked up from her paper that she had rested on the side table, her black pen singing through the still air.  
"I know it's frustrating, but it's going to take time," she sighed, seeing what little light he had left in himself slowly dim even lower, burying itself alive in his earthen eyes.  
He placed his fingers on top of hers as she placed her hand on his knee, hoping to comfort him further, "Marcus, this could take months. Years even. It's just going to take time. But we have more than hope this time. We will get through this. You will get through this," she corrected herself, "I promise." 

He held more than trust in her.  
It was something deeper. Something unexplainable.  
And he knew she was right. Above all else, she was always right.  
But he couldn't hold onto hope. He couldn't afford holding onto hope. He needed more than that.  
He needed persuasion into thinking that everything would be ok.  
But the hard reality of it was, he didn't know if he could ever be convinced it really was. 

A deep, smooth rumble of thunder saved him from coming up with a vacuous lie. From smiling and kissing her cheek and pretending that all he had to do was wait for the leaves to change. But it was no secret he had to paint them all himself. One by one. Until all the trees were laced and bare, shivering in the frozen wind. 

"It's late, I'm sure your Vicodin is wearing off," she let go of his hold, his callused hands sliding across her soft skin as she stood from her thick and cramped mattress.  
The keys in her hand sang as she pulled them from her back pocket. Sliding them carefully into the safe that was built into the wall, just above the counter.  
Marcus looked around her from his bed. Watching as she dropped two pills into her hand from a stainless steel bottle that rattled full of medication, and place it back directly where she grabbed it from.  
The safe closed, its old and batten door grating closed. There was a sudden urge in him to stop Abby from locking it. Grabbing her wrist and pushing her away from the door so that he could tear it back open and swallow every single one of the pills that resided within.  
But the thought was short lived, and once she handed him his designated dosage of Vicodin and he felt the small seeds of relief slide down his throat all the pieces fell into place. And his draw towards the box disintegrate into the past. That was until he took notice of the dust settling on the counter, her forgotten keys catching his eye like lightening in the night sky. 

He was going to say something. He wanted to say something. But it was the something itself that kept his mouth shut.  
He didn't admit to even himself that it was addiction that drove him to an even deeper and darker depression.  
That all he craved was numbness. An escape from the pain. A quick getaway from his nightmares that haunted his reality. A dream within a dream. 

He groaned as he sat up, his tired body receiving no aid from his wounded hands that began to tingle, his medication quickly wearing off.  
He wasn't sure how long he stared at that old and worn key. Studying the patterns and indentures on every square inch of its metal. By now, he knew it like the back of his hand. It was the doorway out of his misery. Yet all he felt when looking at it was more pain.

He became drawn to it like fire. The golden embers snapping like bones in the darkness. A beacon; a symbol of hope. Hope that this bold and vivid storm would lead him to a place where his past was erased and he was given a clean slate. One he could grasp with both hands in the most literal sense.  
Fire was capable of amazing feats. Capable of wiping entire fields of dried straw away so that from their roots new life would grow. Capable of turning powerful trees to glowing embers that danced like stars, and then turn those stars to barren ash and dust that became lost in the wind. What it created, it destroyed.  
Marcus could almost smell his own burning flesh at just the thought of what that key could do.  
Once a fire is lit, there is always a chance it will spread. Once it consumed him, it would consume Abby, and then Clarke, and Bellamy, and Octavia, and the circle would go on and on until there was nothing and no one left to destroy. If he lit this fire, there was no way of putting it out. He was willing to condemn himself to that fate, but not them. He's caused them enough loss already. 

"Damn it," he mumbled under his breath, looking down at his lap where his bandaged hands lay relaxed and throbbing. He was so scared. So... frustrated.  
He couldn't bring himself to steal what little medication his people had left just for his own mercy. But he couldn't cover the pain with pain either. What would he do? Run his wrists across the metal frame of his bed? Punch the wall until his knuckles burst and split? Pull his thick hair right from his scalp?  
He could barely move his fingers from but an inch of their resting place, let alone grip a shard of glass or light a candle. 

He was grateful Abby had been there to help him remove everything but his cotton undershorts, or his cause of death could've possibly been nothing more than a heat stroke.  
He chuckled to himself at this thought, his small and quiet laugh transform into a small hum as he turned to the side and stood from his bed.  
The blueish-grey sheets slid off of him on their own, falling back onto the mattress like sand in an hourglass. 

Goosebumps grew on his arms and chest as he stepped into the restroom, the temperature seeming to drop dramatically.  
Very fitting for such a dark and dulled setting. It reminded him of the sky at late dawn and early dusk. An endless ocean of grey. 

He danced with himself in the mirror, his reflection following his every move.  
He studied every one of his eternal scars. Every bright red river seen flowing through the whites of his eyes. The locks of hair on his scalp that mixed together like thunderheads rolling through the night.  
His naturally darkened skin had turned deathly pale, his ribs pushing more and more out of his skin everyday. He wondered if anyone had noticed. 

He leaned into the sink, his pelvis pushing into the freezing surface. Skin against steel.  
A shiver echoed through the canyon of his body, his stomach retreating and a sharp intake striking through his lungs as he waited, slowly becoming used to the sudden burst of gelid needles.  
He swallowed, his eyes watching the apple in his throat shift up and back down again. The hairs on his neck rising and falling like waves on a calm ocean.  
He liked to imagine the water a crimson red. Blood seeping down his skin, covering his stomach and chest.  
He could almost feel his hair sway like grass in the wind as it floated in the puddle his limp body would lay in.  
His eyes began to sting.  
It was only then that he realized he had been staring into his own reflection the whole time. That it was nothing more than a dark fantasy. A low moan accidentally found its way from his throat.  
"I'm so sorry," his face remained motionless, unmoving, still. He wasn't really sure who he was taking to.  
There was nobody there to listen to his deep, whispering voice. Nobody except his reflection, but not even it deserved an apology. If anyone it was Abby that needed hear his words. She was his burden now. The only one who refused to leave his side. She didn't want to leave his side, yet he was the one pushing her away.  
He bowed his head, looking away from the beast in the mirror, hiding himself from his own emotions as he cried.  
He took in a deep breath, ending his tears as quickly as he could. Looking back up to watch the paths they took down his skin.  
His eyes had become pink and tired. He used the crook of his elbow to dry his face. And he made his way back to his bed, his gaze never once flickering over to the key.  
There were other ways to help relieve his pain. Ones that would only hurt himself.  
He fell asleep staring at the water on his side table, wishing he would just shatter into hundreds of piece like the glass that contained it. 

§₩§

As it turns out, the only thing that shattered was his patience.  
'Marcus, if you don't do this, this will happen.'  
'Marcus, if you don't do that, that will happen.'  
'Marcus, this.'  
'Marcus that.'  
'Marcus, you need to eat.'  
'Marcus, you need to drink.'  
Never in his life had he ever been so annoyed. It was almost patronizing. And in the end, the only thing that kept his urge to lash out at bay, was the fact that he knew these were all out of care for him.  
Octavia, Raven, Clarke, they had all come by once or twice to see how he was doing.  
They turned into mini Abby's as they forced him again and again to take water and to rest. He was lucky they never noticed the constant puddles of water in the sink, and the misplaced vegetables he had snuck back into the cooler.  
They couldn't waste what little supplies they had on him. There were others who were starving on the account of not enough hands to gather food, and to many indignant grounders to welcome trade.  
He lay in bed, useless and full of self pity, whilst they were hauling ass in the pouring rain, putting what little energy they had left into trying to rebuild the camp that he destroyed.  
They couldn't afford to waste supplies. Not on him. 

Luckily, Abby hadn't noticed much of his finked behavior.  
His vitals and blood obviously shower lower vitamins and water intake, but he was sick with mild infection. It was normal. 

"Thank God, there's the key, I was hoping I hadn't lost it outside," Abby muttered, walking into medical and taking the key from the counter. 

Marcus sighed. There went his chance. 

"How was your night?" The counter popped as she leaned against it, the old metal settling against the wall. 

"My wrists hurt, I didn't get much sleep" 

He closed his eyes, playing innocent as he listened to the safe click open.  
The familiar sound of pills rattled through the room, and his mouth watered in hunger.  
A beast thirsty for blood. Only realizing the wounded animals call was only a trap once it was to late. 

"Here, you're due for another dosage," he was greeted with two pills, small and white. He could almost feel them, taste them. He was starved. 

He put his hand under hers, waiting patiently for the medicine to fall into his palm, his fingers unable to grasp them. But that feeling never came.  
Instead she pulled her hand away, and Marcus could feel his heart sink deep in his chest. 

Abby giggled, his brow furrowed and eyes naked, displaying his feelings of betrayal for everyone to see. 

"You should get up, walk around, see camp. We've made a lot of progress. I know they'll be happy to see you out in the open, see you improving," his face morphed into sadness. She knew he didn't want them to see him like that. But he had no idea.  
They didn't fear him. They didn't Pity him. With their eyes, they saw through his. They saw his strength. His determination.  
They would be proud of him.  
But this was Marcus Kane. Not even Abby could convince him of the truth if he didn't want to believe it.  
"For me. Do it for me, please," she smiled, gently grabbing the bandages on his wrist, hoping he would understand. 

He groaned, Abby stepping back as he propped himself up onto his elbow, "help me up"

She grabbed his far shoulder, placing her forearm under his other, hoisting him to his feet once his legs were over the side of the bed.  
"Thanks," he mumbled quietly, his mood obviously not at its prime.  
'Pills. Pills, Abby. You have pills. I got up. I'm doing what you want. Just give me the pills,' he thought, pacing towards the sink, stretching his legs. 

"Sorry, I bribed you to get up, then almost forgot to give you what I promised," she joked, handing him his medication. 

The second they fell into his hand, he brought them to his mouth and swallowed them in one gulp. Water being unnecessary. He had a history with pills. It was just routine. 

He looked down, studying Abby's boots as they stood in front of him. They mirrored his own bare feet.  
His mind went to the night before. There was an urge in him to tell her everything. His dark thoughts and dangerous obsession. She could help, he knew she could. But it was just one more burden to pile on to her. One more worry taking her focus away from what was truly important.  
She loved him.  
He loved her.  
And he knew that she would do anything for him. To take her mind off of everything that mattered, except for him.  
He couldn't let it happen. It was just to much.  
If he was to suffer, it was to be in silence. 

He hadn't realized how long he had been staring down at the floor lost in thought until there was a freezing hand on his shoulder.  
He raised his head slightly, Abby's face so full of worry, he wondered if she would pass out. 

"It'll be ok, Marcus, I promise," she cupped her hands around his temples, her hands feeling the warmth of his skin and hair.  
He bent down at her pull, closing his eyes, his heart beat seeming to slow when her lips pecked his wooled cheek.  
He couldn't believe this same scene had been played in the same room only a week before. It felt like years.  
Only this time, there was more then hope he felt in her kiss, and his bared body shivered as she lowered her hands and held him as close to her as she could, laying her head against his chest.  
He closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath, finally relaxing in her embrace.  
He lowered his hands, his fingers rubbing against the back of her hips.  
A low moan escaped his throat, a small spike of pain echoing through his wrist. He had almost forgotten about the pain. She had that sort of effect on him. 

His eyes slowly rose open, a dark thought clouding his judgment.  
He didn't want to do it. He couldn't do it. But it was almost like he had to. Like the chip in his neck was still there, forcing him to its bidding. 

Abby smiled and held him tighter, a breathy laugh flowing through the room as Marcus lowered his hands, gently hovering them over her butt. He paused, hoping that something would change his mind. That he would feel his senses rushing back to him and avoid the path leading to even more suffering. But it never did, and suddenly, he found his hand in her back pocket, the key tightly held between his two fingers.  
He let out the same, warm, airy laugh that she did, so close to a moan that it sent a tickle through Abby's core.  
She had no idea what he did, nor did she hear the faint ring of the key as Marcus slid it into the small space in between the open drawer behind them and the counter. 

He pulled away first, staring back at her with lustful eyes. What scared him the most, was that this was no act.  
He loved her. All of the feelings he showed her were real. His hands on her body. His eyes staring into her own. The growing burst at his core.  
It was all so real. All so powerful.  
He loved the feeling of it all. Everything she gave him meant more to him than the world.  
But he didn't deserve what she gave him. Not after this. 

"Let's get you some clothes"  
He looked down, forgetting he wasn't even dressed. His teeth weren't even brushed. His hair was still filled with knots and tangles. And of course, he couldn't fix any of it himself. There was always Abby, doing everything he couldn't for him.  
Now it was back to the daily grind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so Marcus has a problem and is fucking himself but hey! It could be worse, right...?! Right...? Ok maybe not....  
> Anyway, there's gonna be some good shit coming next chapter, just you wait. It's like soaps but with more pain and death.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus makes a fatal mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's another chapter, and thanks to Christmas break, I'm hoping to throw out another one shortly!   
> Also, there are hints of self harm in this chapter (at the very end) so trigger warning. If you're triggered, I'm sorry. I don't want to cause any problems with anyone.   
> Ok then, enjoy! And happy holidays!

Pastel Skies Chapter 4 

"We've made mostly improvements since the incident, I think we should be back to normal by next month."   
More information to go in one ear and out the other. He cared, of course he cared. Just not enough. The only thing his mind kept returning to time and time again was the pain. Over and over again, pills, pills, pills. The mere thought of them made his mouth water.   
He hated it.   
How long would it be until someone finds out what he'd done? What Abby would think of him when she realized he was so selfish.   
He stole her key and took more than his share of medicine? Medicine that could be given to children and the sickly who actually deserved it? It wasn't too late. There was still time to forget every single one of his dark thoughts. To drown them in the never ending rain. 

"Marcus? Are you ok?" He jumped, looking to Abby who stood to closer to him than he would have liked. Her hand found rest on his shoulder and her eyes shone with concern. He had the temptation to grab her wrist and push her away. To make her hate him like she should. To not waste her time and concerns on a man like him.   
There may have been a time he would have given anything to wake up every morning next to her. There still was that yearning in his gut that wrapped around his lungs. That feeling of love he'd only felt one other time before. He didn't deserve their love then. And he didn't deserve Abby's now.

"I'm..." He wasn't sure what to say, his words becoming lodged in his throat , slowly suffocating him, "I'm fine," he coughed, continuing on the way Abby had originally planned to lead him. He could see her boots imprinted into the mud, clearly having to come back for him once she realized he was still and unmoving. 

Abby looked up to him as they continued making their way through Arkadia's soggy streets. She waited for him to look back, but he never did.   
"Are you sure you're ok?" 

"I'm fine," he jumped, not meaning to scowl as much as he did. He wasn't sure why he was as angry as he was. There were just so many people. So many eyes on him. Gentle nods in his direction. Hands on his shoulders. Best wishes hitting him from every direction. Abby knew he was overwhelmed, not to mention sleep deprived and in constant discomfort. He had every right to be in a bit of a mood. But there was still something else she felt was haunting his every move. But when did his past ever leave his side? 

"I'm sorry," Marcus looked to Abby as they both ducked back inside the ark, relieved to finally be out of the rain.  
He could still feel the way his sneer made his throat burn. But what made him feel the worst was that without the lingering pain in his dry throat, he would've completely forgotten about his actions, his mind immediately bouncing back to focus on more stressful matters. Such as the key in his pocket. 

Abby looked down, studying his hand. She could feel his eyes on her, prying open her shell and looking deep within. She wasn't angry, and he knew it. But he didn't understand why. Why wasn't the whole camp sneering at him? Coming at him with pitch forks and torches, tying a weight to his feet and tossing him into the lake like trash. He abandoned them. Left them for Al to slowly consume. He killed them. If physically, there was still something within them all that seized to glow anymore. Something that was extinguished the moment he opened the gate for Jaha to shove his pill down all of their throats. 

He lost his train of thought the moment Abby's voice reached his ears. "It's ok," she smiled, grabbing his shoulder, careful not to bump his hand.   
Her soft voice soothed his body. He felt still. Serene.  
The metal walls that guarded his body from the rain beginning to fall away and shrink into fog. He could feel his mind beginning to shrink, crumbling to ashes in his cooling skull.   
"I don't... I don't feel good," he leaned into the wall, the cold metal sticking to his skin. 

Abby tried to catch as he stumbled towards the door, but she was too slow.   
Marcus's boots sloshed through the mud as he gasped for air, letting the sweet, fresh scent fill his nostrils. He could feel a hand fall onto his shoulder as his knees fell to the ground, his body gently rocking back and forth, his weight shifting between his knees.   
He looked weakly to Abby, his vision blurred as his eyes slowly closed. He could see her. Faintly. She mouthed his name, her face a mixture of horror and beauty. He wished he could stroke her hair, study it's every strand as they wrapped around his fingers in thick coils. He wanted to hold her until he couldn't any longer. Until the rain stopped and pastel skies shone across the sky as the sun sank lower and lower below the mountains, its reflection painted across the placid lake.   
These images fell away like his sight, becoming lost and distilled in the stillness that shrouded him.   
He didn't feel himself fall unconscious into the mud below his knees. But he could hear Abby, muffled below the sloshing of mud under her boots, her voice screaming his name. 

§₩§

Something screamed at him from above the nights freezing air, pulling a lever within him. On the inside, his heart had melted away into a cauldron of silver and copper that resided deep in his gut, cradled within his flesh.   
His lungs had turned to ivory, locked away with bars of gold to keep away any thieves who saw his wealth as ripe for the taking. This cage suffocated him, sending pillars of smoke from his throat, filling the sky with clouds of rain that fell back to him in a storm of sleet and ice.   
The oceans within his body had begun to turn. Fighting against him. His very bones turning to ash on their own. 

He could hear his wrist tearing as the nails penetrated his skin. Around him, there was a starless night. No light. No fire. No eyes. It was just him, alone in the bittersweet darkness. 

Marcus looked to his left, and then to his right, studying the surrounding emptiness.   
Yes. That's was what he was feeling.   
Emptiness. There was no longer a pain within him. Not a physical one, anyway. 

It was more of a calling.   
A hot chain wrapped about his neck, burning his throat, the smell of searing flesh filling his nostrils, making his mouth water as it pulled him deeper and deeper below the waves.   
He clenched his fist at the thought, his body moving up as he pulled against the iron shafts that held him into place. He felt nothing. Saw nothing. Thought of nothing. It was as if he were already dead. A cold corpse hanging by a thread for all of its friends to laugh and mock at as it slowly rotted in the approaching spring. 

There was however, a voice in the silence. It began low, growing louder and louder until it was screaming at him from every direction. The darkness before him began to churn, mixing with hundreds of stars, replicating the paintings that hung every few feet on the walls of the ark. Soon there were faces in the shadows, fingers growing through the walls, hands pulling at his blood washed hair.   
His eyes, like lanterns in a thick, heavy fog began to lose their light. Dimmer and dimmer they fell until he could no longer see his breath as it crowded around him in the cold. Again, there was emptiness. 

This was death. 

§₩§

"I don't know what else to do, Marcus," Abby's eyes put a bullet through his skull as she stared at him from across the room. His body leaned against the heightened surgical table, and his muddy boots crossed against the floor, smearing clay and gravel over the darkened tin.   
He looked back at her with emptiness suffocating his look.   
There were no tears on his peppered cheeks, or redness in his eyes. Yet, he could still feel the wetness that seeped into his skin as teeth did into flesh. 

"The only food you've eaten in almost an entire week is the three pills I've limited you a day, and the only water you've drank is from when you needed to wash the medication down," her face was entirely different.   
There was anger and sadness mixed within the brown soil that crowded her pupils. The sadness, of course, could easily be replaced with pity. But, it was an ongoing battle between disgust and sorrow. Hating Marcus Kane? That was a lie you told children for them to do what you please. Skeptical of Marcus Kane? That was a whole different book entirely.   
No, what she felt was thick. Heavy like bog and murky as a fresh river after the spring rains had finally come to release what was left of their grey clouds. It snapped her spine and crushed her ribs from within their cages that turned to splinters through her thin skin. Every breath he took seemed to release dopamine from her mind, a reward for keeping him alive for as long as she has. 

"Why are you starving yourself? What is your mindset? Where are you going? Do you really think that 'saving supplies for the people who really need it' is going to persuade me that there isn't something else at play here?" 

He bit his lip, wishing to drown himself in the puddles of rain at his feet. He was rarely ever speechless, but now, Marcus didn't know what to say. Nor think. Nor do.   
Everything around him melted to oceans, sweeping him away. Leaving him stranded on an island guarded by his own paranoia and pain that he was to weak to face on his own. He could feel the warm key push against his thigh as it rested in his pocket. His focus, once again, becoming obscured.

"I..." he paused, his expression rising from sadness to confusion as his eyes searched the floor as if teeth would grow from the loose gravel that had come in from the bottom of their shoes, whispering to him what to say and what to do. "I forgot the question," he looked up, staring at her with a brutal seriousness as he snapped from his daydreams. 

"Marcus," Abby loosened her tense stance, her arms falling from their cross upon her chest to the sides of her torso, her boots shuffling towards him, "you passed out in front of the entire camp on your first appearance since the incident. It's a good thing that I'm the only one who knows it was because of exhaustion and malnutrition."  
Her hands fell onto the sides of his shoulders as he remained slouched at her height, his head bowed below hers, forcing him to peek up to her with eyes as black as charcoal.   
"Where are you? Hm? Where's Marcus?" 

He waited, a continuous tapping of water leaking from the sink at the counter beyond them. It helped to fill the silence that he couldn't quite seem to rid them of no matter how hard he tried. He wanted nothing more than the conversation to be over. For Abby to kiss him on the cheek and whisper to him "goodnight" as she left him alone to stare at the ceiling in the dark.

"I can't find him either," he finally shook. He bit his tongue, regretting the words the moment they sounded from his throat. This wasn't the time to be truthful. But he couldn't lie. Not to Abby. 

Her face remained solemn and still as if she didn't expect any more or any less of him. He could see in the reflection of her eyes his own face. He could see the scars that cut rivers through his flesh. Every flaw being filled with molten gold and glass.   
He was pathetic. Blind to the consequences of his actions. Deaf to all reasonable voices who tried to pry his attention from the key that howled at him like wolves from his pocket. 

A burst of pain in his sores pushed him over the edge, his body lightly jumping forward as he squeezed his eyes closed, doing everything he could to ignore the sting. He groaned, breathing heavily through the cold draft that sifted through medical sending chills to run up his spine.

"I know, I know," Abby tightened her grip, her words seeping slowly to a whisper as her hands fell to his wrists, gently applying pressure to his slow healing wounds, "it will pass, Marcus I promise." 

His name played across her lips. Falling like rain upon her ears. The sound was a mixture of medicine and poison. Some days, she felt she could never stop saying it. She feared if she did then she could never say it again. That the winds would carry it away, leaving her only with a pile of embers and trails of ash. None of it was true, of course. It was simply her excuse to say it more and more, as much as she could. This time, she wasn't so sure. 

She could almost feel his pain. She could see him screaming from above her as nails ripped through him. She could hear everyone he ever cared about breathing deeply behind her, watching with blank, almost cheerful expressions as their friend was left to rot in a city of plague and death. She could even taste his blood as it fell from her teeth at every mention of his name. 

Marcus's hands twitched under the weight of her touch. He moved his fingers as far as he could to brush her soft skin, relishing in the way her warmth blanketed across him. He finally felt something besides hurt and shame. 

"I know that this is hard on you," his voice was deep, rising through him from his center. "And I'm sorry. I'm... I thought I could replace the pain." 

Lies. 

His eyes glanced to the medicine safe, studying the key hole in seconds before his attention returned to Abby's worried stare. 

"Vicodin is addictive," she began. "I've limited you to the most I am comfortable in giving a patient."

A sigh fell from her lips as she watched Marcus's eyes travel from weak to mortified.   
His shoulders slumped, and his jaw clenched tightly shut, his entire body seemingly preparing to shut down. 

"It'll get better, I promise. I went through the same pain when I broke my arm w-"  
She stopped. 

'I went through the same pain?' Abby thought to herself. 

Marcus hadn't caught her mistake, and if he did, he noticeably didn't care. He sat, still slouched. Still motionless. Still breathing. Still still. All except the shaking in his hands. That motion never stopped. 

Yet, Abby still felt the need to apologize. To make him feel not as degraded as she thought she had made him feel. It was her fault he was this way anyway. Her fault the entire camp fell to the hands of Jaha. Her fault Marcus had been forced to take the key. Her fault there was nothing but pain seeping into every crack and chip of their lives. But who was she kidding? They were both shattered. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way," her words swept over his head like wind through his hair, and Abby could tell his reply was simply being said to pretend as if he had heard her words. 

"It's alright," he forced a smirk onto his lips as he looked up from the clay and gravel smeared floor. 

A long silence coursed through the room as Abby put away any supplies she had left out on the counters. With the last dishes washed in the sink, and the bloody bandages she had left on the table thrown into the trash bin next to the door, she stood before Marcus, and did nothing but cross her arms. 

He looked up in curious confusion, afraid that she had known all along of his label as a thief.   
"What?" He shrugged, deciding that playing stupid was the best route to take. 

"Nothing," she paused, "You just don't look yourself." 

He looked away, staring at his reflection in the window as the moon remained hidden within the thunderheads above them. She was right. 

He didn't know who he was anymore. He didn't recognize his eyes, or what was in them. There was no hope. No authority. No Marcus. What looked back at him from within the glass was the same ghost that still haunted his dreams at night. This was the same reflection that stared him down the moment the doors to the airlock slammed shut. The same ghostly stare that had brought death to every person they touched. The same eyes. They were the same eyes. 

"I know," he masked his worry beneath a small smirk. 

Abby mimicked his expression and stepped slowly forward to wrap her hands gently around his shoulders and place a small kiss gently on his cheek.   
"I think you should stay in medical for a few more days," she softly whispered in his ear as she lingered close to him. "Good night, Marcus." 

He didn't get a chance to say anything before Abby let go and left him alone in a room full of crowded thoughts and empty words. As the doors closed behind her, he let out a shuddered breath. He felt his body ache and shiver, the burning in his wrists spreading like flames through his arms. His mind emptied all thoughts of Abby, replacing her with the soft whispers that emerged from behind the safes thick door. He closed his eyes, nausea suddenly overcoming him. 

He fell backwards, falling into the surgical table that remained still warm from when he had leaned on it only moments before. The voices in his head continued to sing. With every note driving him further and further over the edge. Suddenly, the drums from his pocket began to match the chorus, and with the stitches in his wrists, an entire orchestra began to play. The room fell away beneath his feet. The rain stopped falling. The windows before him shattered. His clothes burned to ashes over his skin. The voices took everything from him. Now, the only thing left was Marcus. Naked. Raw. Exposed. Everything he fought for, everything he helped create, was thrown into a fire at his feet. He stood motionless as he watched it burn. 

The song kept playing as he pulled the key weakly from his pocket, the small chunk of metal barely able to be held between his fingers. One moment, he stood staring at his reflection in the silver, and the next, in the stainless steel pill bottle that rattled in his hands. 

He closed the safe slowly, letting the key drop to the floor as his entire life centered around this moment. 

The music went on. And on. And on.

His heart pounded in his wrists. He could feel the adrenaline course through his veins. Even the voices in his head seemed to become a living choir whispering in his ears. He could feel their deep breaths against the back of his neck. He shivered beneath their songs. 

He unscrewed the lid as quick as he could, the small, white pills staring back up at him from the bottom of the canister. They screamed the moment they hit his hand. He heard his name over and over again. Sweat dripped from his cheeks and followed the droplets of rain down the glass.   
The pain in his wrists had gone numb, as had the rest of his body.   
His only thought now was of Abby.   
Her voice beginning to stir into the choir.   
He swore he could feel her mouth on his own. Or even hear her voice singing his name. 

But it must've been nothing.   
Now, it was silent.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So if you're triggered over ODs then I'd stop reading this fic cause well shit happens... anyway, enjoy!

Pastel Skies Chapter 5

There was hardly a whisper throughout the room. The intoxicating silence slowly driving anyone who dare breathed the air around them into insanity. It was a toxic cloud of repeating thoughts and distant voices that stuck to memories like thick mud. Time went on as the rain ticked-ticked-ticked-ticked. It tapped the windows and ceiling like a infinite clock, it's hands counting down the time the rainy season ended. 

'I can't find him either.'

Abby shivered at his voice circling her head. She knew he needed help. That he wasn't himself. That there was something hiding beneath the scars on his wrists that she couldn't see. But Marcus Kane was a man of very few words, and hundreds of secrets. And sometimes, not even she could deprive him of what he didn't want anyone else to know.   
All she could do now was think. 

The linen sheets she found herself lying under scratched her legs, surrounding her like damp, autumn leaves that had rested on the ground through the turning of hundreds of seasons.   
The dull chill it gave her made her toes writhe together, her whole body shivering from the cold. Yet her thoughts remaining on him.   
There was something wrong. She could feel it deep in her gut. Something taunting her from behind the earthy Iris's of his eyes. 

Abby burned a hole through the ceiling as it hid above the darkness of her room, her mind pulsing in question. The storm outside had obscured any light that the moon had normally shared with her, and she missed its presence. Sometimes she even found herself staring up into the face of the rock, smiling as her childish imagination came to shed a warm glow on her aching body. Then her thoughts would trail off, and think of lesser, darker things, and the comfort she had felt moments before, would be gone with a simple memory.   
She could feel it now as the pictures in her mind flashed and screamed his name, the waves crashing against the inside of her skull. She knew there was nothing that could replace the horrors sitting behind every turn. Not even the moon was there to comfort her now. To help mask the pain she felt in the center of her core. Something wasn't right and she knew it. 

Abby sighed, throwing the covers from her body as she stood in the dark. She shivered with goosebumps as the frigid air of early spring clutched her torso. The first thing she saw was a pile of clothes lying still on the floor, her shirt and pants that she had worn a week straight without washing bunched together in a tight wad. It only took one deep breath for her to slip on the clothes loosely, the damp cloth only making her more susceptible to the chill in the air around her. 

If she couldn't get to sleep on her own, perhaps seeing Marcus would trigger her mind to feel more at ease. She didn't blame him for the insomnia, but there was still the build up of malaise toppling over her with insecurity and withdrawal. The truth was, she didn't know what pushed her to leave her quarters and escape to an even heavier nightmare. Perhaps it was the pin at her chest, or the ring around her neck. Either way, there was a rope tied around her waist, and it wouldn't stop pulling until she was stuck within a storm.   
The corridors she coursed through slept soundly in the night. There were no guards, or young teens sneaking from their parents to hideaway with bottles of moonshine and best friends. It was only the light draft flowing at her side that kept her company through the midnight hours.   
Her hand found its mark against the chilled door of medical as she pushed it open with a long draw. There was a moment of resilience within her. She didn't know what would be on the other side of the tin frame, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to. A war waged within her chest between going in and stepping out. However, there was little negotiation needed. She knew that she was Marcus's only chance of making it through the next few weeks. But right now, it wasn't him that needed counseling. All Abby wanted was to hear his voice and feel his hands. To know that he was ok and that the next morning would hold another day of improvement. But there was always a fine line between a want and a need. 

Abby felt herself fall in seconds as the contents of the room before her became known. Within the Dimness, Marcus lay as a shadow against the ground. His body facedown and head turned away from the door. What was left of him drowned in the piles of maroon pedals that covered the cement around him, blossoming from the bandages wrapped around his wrists.   
Abby's lips opened, yet no words could break their way through the knot in her throat. She could almost feel the needle threading through her skin, holding her mouth tightly closed. But words weren't what he needed. Without thought she ran to him, her knees dropping besides his limp arm and swollen torso as she fell into the puddles of blood grouped around his hand. 

"Marcus, wake up," she took his cheeks and pulled his head to face her, letting go in surprise when blood and water poured from his throat.   
She looked up the moment a small ring echoed through the room from his hand that remained unmoved at his hip. Her heart skipped a beat in fear as the unexpected noise bounced back and forth through her ears. It wasn't hard to find the small metal canister trapped within the cage made by his own fingers, holding the vial within his grasp.   
Abby knew the moment she saw the silver container hiding beneath his skin what he had done. The safes door remained clearly cracked open, its contents left alone except one small bottle that had been removed from the very front. 

"What have you done," she muttered, her eyes nailed to the metal vessel on the counter above them.   
A drug overdose was a rarity on the ark. How patients stole or forged keys was beyond Abby's knowledge. But, deep down, she wasn't surprised that Marcus hid such a dark talent beneath the aptitudes he allowed others to see. She'd witness him take apart his gun and put it back together again in seconds, his fingers diligently working to solve his own memorized puzzle that had taken him years to perfect.   
His hands capable of slipping discretely into any persons pockets was a simple diagnosis. He was an apexed thief. Abby would've even said she'd be proud of him if it didn't mean his own suicide.   
Standing from Marcus's side, Abby rushed to the radio at the back counter next to the door, tuning to the private station her and Jackson had been introduced to for doctor-patient confidentiality. She wasn't sure what to say at first. There wasn't much to say. Marcus was dying. Choking on his own blood and vomit. There were 25 Vicodin pills lodged in his throat and poisoning his blood stream. Abby's spent years perfecting the way she had pushed herself to stay calm in any situation, be it heart surgery or simple stitches. If it weren't for her making sure her cheeks were dry and hands still, then she knew she'd be stuck burning in a wildfire of regret and enigma. But Jackson always knew when she was struggling to keep herself contained just by the way her voice wavered and cracked. 

"Jackson..." she half whispered into the mic, hoping to wake him as quickly as she could from his sleep in the middle of the night. 

Rain ticked through the walls. 

"Jackson, wake up." She demanded, her voice louder that before.  
She prepared to scream at him again before the radio in her hand gasped and coughed to life, its voice hoarse and low in the silence surrounding her. 

"Abby? What's wrong? Are you in medical?" 

She looked to Marcus lying motionless and numb across the room. 

"Yes-yes i'm in medical. We have an emergency. I need you down here now."   
She waited for him to answer back, be it a question or a statement, but nothing ever came. She felt alone, almost forgotten in the silence. As if everyone knew that their friend was suffering from an overdose as did everyone else at one point in their life. 

Abby shook her head and went to his side again. No. this wasn't normal. None of this was supposed to happen.   
She wrapped her hands around his shoulders, pulling him over so that his chest could rest against her arm and she could hold him face down. His hair, soaked in blood and sweat, stuck to her shirt. The chilled floor darkened with fluid as it dribbled in a steady flow from his lips. Even his skin had gone from tan to pale and yellow. Abby waited and lost patience at every second spent not flushing the poison from his system. But deep down, she knew there was nothing to be done until help arrived. 

"Abby," Jackson announced himself in a worried tone as he hurried to her side.   
"He's overdosed, help me get him onto the table." She motioned behind her towards the surgical table with a slight backwards nod of her head. 

"Who o-" he cut his sentence short at the sight of Marcus overturned in her arms, the bandages wrapped across his bruised wrists clearly giving away his identity.   
Jackson decided that to say nothing at all was better than sitting on his hands asking useless questions as he swung his legs through the air under his seat.   
Abby made sure to protect Marcus's hands and the wounds that were on them as she overturned him onto his back. She had convinced herself that the fluids in his throat were not subject to a threat, and that choking was the least of their problems. Now, it was only the matter of getting him stable and conscious. 

They both prepared to lift him as quickly as they could. Jackson took his thighs and Abby, his shoulders, their fingers carefully wrapping around his limbs. She gripped him softly, hoping her hands did not leave behind bruises and lesions across his body. For a doctor, it was a foolish thought. Nobody bruised that easily. But her mind was clouded. In her mind, this was all her fault. She had shattered him enough and now it was time to put him together again. Even now as they hoisted him up to lie still on a freezing surgical table, they both never thought this day would come. Nearly everyday he had perched himself over the metal edge and brought to life centuries of conversation between them. It was there they found things they had never known about one another. Where they had done things that neither could have predicted would ever come from between them. There were so many memories here. Yet it was the very place that could potentially end them all at the accidental rouse of a finger. He was already nothing but a corpse awaiting a pointless autopsy. She figured it'd be better to just stop now and get the paper work over with. 

First Name: Marcus   
Middle Name: Emmett   
Last Name: Kane  
Age: 43  
Sex: Male  
Blood Type: O-  
Hair Color: Black   
Eye Color: Brown  
Type of Death: Suicide  
Cause of Death: Overdose  
Time Of Death: To be Determined by fidgety doctor with incurable insomnia   
Organ Donor

The thought of his name carved permanently into one of those files made her want to vomit. Whatever had gotten into him, it wasn't him. It was her. She pushed him to do this ever since she gave the order to nail him to a cross and leave him to scream over a dying city. It was enough to give anyone such dark desires.   
"It would be impossible for him to have taken these more than four hours ago. We should be able to stick with standard procedure," every word left her mouth in a white cloud, the room chilling colder and colder around them. 

"But, Abby, what's standard procedure?" Even Jackson hadn't been introduced to what doctors were supposed to do when someone has overdosed on medication. There wasn't enough medication to ration. Even if they stole enough to intentionally, or unintentionally, kill themselves, then nobody was going to save them. What was the point? They would be floated for stealing if they pulled through. Why waste a trainee doctors time teaching them something they'll never do. 

"If we don't pump his stomach now then his liver is going to fail," she left the table and returned with gloves for the both of them. 

He didn't ask any more questions. Abby was on the brink of exhaustion and panic, her voice wavering and growing more and more bitter and annoyed at every word. She was falling into panic. The second she ordered Jackson to clean his wrists and re-bandage them, he went straight to work. He didn't want to wait and find out what might happen if she was unable to do what she needed to do.   
There was so much pain lingering through the air around them. Abby could hardly keep still as she emptied a bottle of surgical lubricant down his throat. Her head was throbbing and screaming inside. She wanted to cry and hold his hand. To wash the blood from his hair and water from around his lips. What made it worse was that she knew he was still there. Under her touch she could feel him shiver. He wasn't unconscious. Not yet, anyway. There was a part of him that was still awake, be it physically or mentally. She waited for him to open his eyes and look into hers. To remind her of his promise that he was going to be ok. She needed someone to show her the way out of the dark, and he was the only person that could give that to her. 

Jackson tossed away the bloody gauze and bandages that he used to sop up the blood on Marcus's wrists. And, upon turning back, finally took his first long look at the man who had yet to so much as move an inch since he had begun to work on him. He didn't know what to feel about Chancellor Kane. Six months ago he was executing innocent people for stealing food and medicine, and now he was overdosing on the exact medications he refused to so many others. Not to mention his few attempts to float the doctor who was saving him now after his biased actions. There was blood on his hands and in his hair and on his face. It was everywhere. Every drop and every smear a reminder of what he did to the people he swore to protect. But Jackson didn't swear to anybody. Not to the chancellor or his neighbors. Not to his education or his goals. There wasn't one person who had his word in their grasp. Nobody except Abby.   
He promised her that everything would be ok. That the worst would pass and the world would keep on spinning. But, right now, it was completely still in her eyes.   
If saving Marcus Kane's life was going to hold that promise firmly into place, then he was going to make sure that his heart didn't miss one beat. 

Jackson took his eyes from their patient and moved them up to abby. She had already prepared the plastic tubing in her hands and the syringe it was attached to. There was nothing left to do but continue with the treatment. Yet, all he found her doing was fiddling with the equipment as if there was something that was missing and she was scrambling to figure out what it was. 

"Abby? Are you ready?" Moments of silence trailed slowly behind his words. "Are you ok?" 

No. she wasn't. 

She knew she had to do this. The question was could she do it. He was sweating more than he was before. And his skin was even more pale than it had been only five minutes prior. His naked wrists had barely bled at all. She wasn't ok, but neither was he. 

"I'm fine," her voice cracked. "Hold him still." 

Jackson did as he was told and opened Marcus's mouth, waiting as Abby slowly worked the tube down his throat. She could've sworn she saw him writhe in discomfort, but it was hard for her to trust even herself at the time. She glanced forward hoping to find any notion that her assistant, too, saw him move, but he hinted no such thing. 

"Stay with me, Marcus," her voice was a thunderstorm of pleads and near shouts. There was no proof that he could hear her, or know what what happening, or even what he had done to himself. He was crumbling at her touch and washing away with the rain. It would eat him away until there was nothing but flesh and bone, if it hadn't already.   
Or, maybe he did hear her. Maybe he could feel her hands on his own and sense the panic in her chest. Maybe, just maybe, there was a place of regret. A place where everything he was had gathered to die, and burn to ash at the powder keg of 25 ivory sparks. But who held the match?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be up soon with even MORE angst (this one could've been sadder....)


End file.
